University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

—Apulia. An ilex-grove surrounding an oracular well and sanctuary of Nemesis.
Enter Ianthe dressed in white and wearing a chaplet of roses.
Ian.
O goddess! in whose sanctuary I've spent
These two sad solemn nights, waiting a sign,
Let not thine oracle be dumb to me,
Let not my watch be fruitless! Pity me!
Defraud not this bereaved heart of its hope,
Show me the path to vengeance! Let me not
Lose all the fruit of this long lonely horror,
My desolate and dangerous pilgrimage,
Which seems to sever me from humankind!
Thou know'st the spirit of my love, all night,
With his pale murdered face has haunted me!
How changed! how changed! Nor am I more myself.
Every familiar circumstance of life
Seems visionary, long past, and long done with.
In dreams I pray unceasingly to one
Who turns unpitying from me—wring my hands.
Choke with dry sobs, and wake in trembling horror—
I dared not hate him, whilst I knelt before him,
Awed by a sternness, as of destiny,
Rather than human will; but I saw him—
Him! him!—unutterable moment!—still
Loving his murderer almost more than me,
Still full of life, and yet a dying man,
And that has made me mad! Now, every day,
This hatred grows more insupportable,
The pangs more maddening of rejected prayer!
Therefore I come before thee, unseen Power,
And cry for comfort in my misery!—
'Tis misery has made me superstitious!
Things that were merely names to me grow real,
And with a passionate belief I cling
To forms which, in my happier days, were only
The ornament and poetry of life.
Once more, then, of thy sacred well I'll drink,
Once more I'll hope to see the answering sign.

[She passes through the grove to the sanctuary within.
Enter Gala and Gulussa.
Gala.
Halt we a moment, brother.

Gul.
With good will.
This secret shady spot invites a pause.

[Dismounts.
Gala.
Think you that shaggy shepherd was trustworthy?
By the broad sudden grin of his white teeth,
When we named Hannibal, he seemed to catch
The meaning of our broken, blundering questions,
And with a right goodwill to point the way—
Though what he meant by all that flood of speech,
I am not sorcerer enough to guess.

Gul.
The star of Barca's house has scarcely led us
So far, to fail us now, when we begin
To feel as if our errand were accomplished!
Yet 'twas a juggling nightmare at Canusium
That snatched our hero from us at the moment
We thought our wanderings done.

Gala.
A goodly land,
Well worth the spoiling! My heart burns within me,
To think our holiday is come so near,
When we shall snatch our portion. Blessed trump,
Whose magic war-blast from the desert charmed us
To the war-tents of heroes! Flourish long
The race of Barca! Whilst a man of them
Is left alive, there will be war on earth.

Gul.
Meanwhile, he flies before us, like the ghosts
That cheat unwary mortals to their doom.
And yet, methinks, we carry through the land
A talisman that hides us from all foes.

Gala.
Our talisman's a sharp Numidian wit,
And well hath served us, but if Hannibal
Eludes us still, may fail to save our skins.
What we have gone through, told at home, will sound,
Some moonlit eve beneath our desert-palms,
Like the wild wonders of the story-tellers.
They lead us a hard life, these sons of Barca!
But what of that? Come, let's be going!

Gala.
Stay!
This way he pointed us to Metapontum—
In that direction, if I understood him,
We should be tending towards Tarentum, where
We should fall in with Roman Claudius.

Gul.
Harken!
Mine eyes and ears, methinks, are good as thine,
And mine did surely, from his words and signs,
Gather that this way lay the path for us,
To Metapontum and to Hannibal,
And that way lay Tarentum.

Gala.
Here's a strait.

[Ianthe, issuing from the grove, perceives the Numidians, and starts back.]
Ian.
O goddess, save me! Why left I my home?
They see me not—some voluble dispute
Absorbs them. What's their errand here? How came they
So near the Roman lines? Hark! I can catch
The words “Tarentum,” “Metapontum,” ever
Bandied between them—pointing now this way,
Now that: they have missed their road. O Nemesis!
A thrill runs through me! Can this be the sign
I seek for—this, my opportunity?
How dare I use it? How dare show myself?
Would I could understand their barbarous jargon!
Full oft these wild Numidians have been charged
With weighty errands by their generals—
They see me not—I'll draw a little nearer—

Gala.
Ha, look!—Look there!

Gul.
The rose-crowned goddess! oh,
Astarte!

Gala.
Hush!

[They prostrate themselves before her.]
Ian.
[to herself.]
What shall I do, O heaven?
What do they take me for?

Gul.
O goddess, speak!
See, see our sacred mission! [showing the letter.]
Be not wroth!
Guide us to Hannibal! to Hannibal!

[Ianthe points towards Tarentum. Gala and Gulussa rise, mount, and exeunt.]
Ian.
'Twas Nemesis inspired me! How I tremble!
There's something whispers me my prayer is heard,
And Mutines avenged. How felt I else
So brave, when those wild forms fell down before me?
How, suddenly, as by a flash of light,
Beheld the part appointed me—the snare
I was to send them to? Is it no fancy?
Have I, indeed, wrought evil to that man,
Or has a childish hope deluded me?
How can the loss of two Numidians harm him?
O goddess, calm the tremblings of this horror!
Brighten the blackness of my loneliness!
I see no comfort, none, in all the world.
I shudder, thinking I have harmed a man
Whose greatness makes my love seem pitiful,
My vengeance, profanation. Wretch that I am!
Oh, if I cannot hate, what have I left?
Would I were home, and all the past forgot!
[Exit Ianthe.